


My Hands

by hinotoriii



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Background Character Death, Comfort/Angst, F/M, talk of an in game decision some readers may not like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinotoriii/pseuds/hinotoriii
Summary: After both the destruction of the Chantry and being given no choice but to leave Kirkwall in its aftermath, Scarlet considers the decisions she made. Or rather, she considers one decision in particular.





	My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for quite some time, but given that [my Inquisitor's](http://archiveofourown.org/series/201365) story is starting to blend more into events which transpired during my Hawke's canon, I have decided to finally post this. 
> 
> I know the decision Scarlet makes is not the most popular one with many in the fandom, however it is an important one. I could write entire essays on Scarlet's ideas and mindsets throughout her story, but that would likely bore most people. She is incredibly complicated and oftentimes conflicted. The end game decisions made in Dragon Age 2 became a turning point for her, especially given what happens to her in Inquisition (and anything I may have planned beyond (?)). 
> 
> For the sake of those who perhaps clicked this _without_ reading the tags, Scarlet's decisions are that she killed Anders, but ultimately sided with the mages. She then flees Kirkwall with the majority of her party (and likely a few mages they helped along the way) and both her and Merrill soon realise they cannot return without the risk of being killed just for the fact they're mages too. And so begins the first major tremors of the Mage and Templar war.

_Maker, what have I done?_

Scarlet stares blankly at her hands, the sounds of those around her blurring into nothingness. Her friends - the people that have followed her lead for so long - are busy making decisions, trying to make sure that they’ve found a safe spot to hide from templars for the long night ahead. Yet she doesn’t take any of it in.

Instead she silently trembles. Her hands are clean, but all Scarlet can imagine is the blood that should be staining them. The blood of every life she’s had to take that day just to survive, to ensure that other mages even had a _chance_ to survive. The blood of Orsino, of Meredith -

And of _him_.

Her breath catches every time she thinks of him, but not in the way that would once set her heart a-flutter before. Each catch twists her stomach into knots, causes more guilt to gnaw away at her very being, and has her fighting back tears. Scarlet is haunted with the last few moments she saw his face: the utter acceptance at his end reflected back at her along with the sadness and the complete, honest love she had missed oh so much over the past few months.

And then she had taken the dagger he had laid by his side, and stabbed him. Extinguishing one of the last remaining bright lights of her life.

It made her sick to remember that part.

_Did I make the right choice? Or did any of it really matter anymore anyway?_

Scarlet doesn’t have the answers. Always she had acted on her instinct, her gut feeling, and it had worked before now. Every mission, every favour, every task. But this? This was different.

How could she have ever been able to make such a decision on instinct alone? Choosing to help protect the mages had been the easy part, Scarlet could hardly allow them to be rallied up and slaughtered like cattle because of one mans mistakes. But to kill Anders? The man she had loved and once trusted more than anyone? To put her own feelings second for once and the importance of the bigger picture first? How was she ever able to know what the right decision would or would not be - or if there even was one in the first place.

She’d be arguing with herself over the decision for the rest of her days, Scarlet knew that.

“Hawke?”

At the sound of her name being called Scarlet jumps slightly from where she’s been sitting hunched upon a large rock, looking around her frantically before her eyes settle on where Varric now stands beside her. She calms slightly, and notices how Varric gives her a sad look heavy with concern.

“I’m not even going to bother asking how you’re holding up - the answer’s obvious anyway - but … is there anything either I or the rest of us can do right now?”

Scarlet stares at Varric with widened eyes for a long moment, the words taking their time to settle and make any sense within her mind. She eventually shakes her head, looking down at the ground beneath her feet again.

“No,” Scarlet says, and the calmness of her voice sounds strange and alien even to her own ears. “Thank you Varric, but … no.”

A long pause stretches between them, and Scarlet isn’t sure how much time has passed before Varric speaks again. For all her knowledge, it could have been minutes. Or years, perhaps.

“Alright,” He says around a sigh. “You should probably know however that everyone’s decided we’ll be on the move again tomorrow. We … can’t stay in one place too long. It’s too dangerous, especially for both you and Merrill.”

Scarlet nods to show she has heard him, yet says nothing. She senses that Varric remains standing by her side for a while, before he’s letting out another tired sigh.

“You should get some rest if you can. You’re going to likely need your energy again tomorrow.”

Varric turns to start walking away, and before she realises it, Scarlet’s lips are moving.

“Did I make the right choice?”

He stops, turning back to face Scarlet. Scarlet stares vaguely at her hands again, lifting them up in the air before her and turning them over and back again, inspecting for any of those phantom blood stains she _knows_ should be there.

“What would you have done, Varric? He was your friend too. Would you have let him live?”

Another long silence drags out between them, one in which Scarlet can feel the way Varric stares at her again, yet she doesn’t turn to face him. She doesn’t see the concern spread across his face, nor how for once there is no trace of amusement or humour in his expression that would somehow make this situation easier. Varric himself feels as if he’s suddenly aged, worn already from the struggle of the future that stands before them.

“Shit, Hawke,” He says, reaching up to rub a hand against his forehead. He’s frowning, forehead furrowed deeply in contemplation at the question. “I don’t know if I can answer that. _I_ was never put in the same position as you were. But if you’re asking me if I think you’re wrong for killing Blondie? If I think you should have let him live? Then ... no. I don’t. What _I_ think is that you were dealt a very shit hand to play, and an even shitter decision to make because of it.”

He lowers his hand back down to his side, and Scarlet finally glances towards him from out of the corner of her eye. Varric continues.

“Neither of us really know how much of him was left when he blew up the Chantry. For all we know, that damn demon of his could have warped and corrupted his mind completely ages ago. Maybe … maybe you should think of your actions as a _favour_ to Anders, Hawke. The real Anders, at least. You saved him from a lifetime of guilt eating him up from the inside, from being public enemy number one every day, and from Maker knows whatever personal hells he may or may not have been fighting himself. I won't lie and tell you that doing so will things all of a sudden easy to deal with, but it could be a first step to take for yourself at least.”

Scarlet doesn’t reply. Her eyes close after Varric has spoken, and her face tightens with the heart wrenching pain that feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of her. She doesn’t know if she can fool herself in such a way, not when her mind tells her she was wrong, so very, horribly wrong. That she’s a monster for not throwing the dagger far away instead of using it.

A better person would have let Anders flee. Let him _live_.

But she’s never been a better person.


End file.
